“With wrath. And ‘Well done, neighbour!’ she says cheerly: ‘This does one good! You’ve still your caul on, clearly!’ But when your head is turned, she casts upon ’em-- The envious one--a look so full of venom, It knots and burns ’em up. And then you say It was the east wind plastered ’em that way!” “I don’t say that has naught to do with it,” Quoth Zèu. “Still it had been quite as fit For me to close the window.”--“Doubt you, then, The harm the eye can do,” went on Taven, “When in the head it glistens balefully?” And Zèu scanned, herself with piercing eye. “Ye are such fools, ye seem to think,” she said, “That scraping with a scalpel on the dead Would win its honey-secret from the bee! But may not a fierce look, now answer me, The unborn babe for evermore deform, And dry the cow’s milk in her udders warm? “An owl may fascinate a little bird; A serpent, flying geese, as I have heard, How high soe’er they mount. And if one keep A fixed gaze upon silk-worms, will they sleep? Moreover, is there, neighbours, in the land So wise a virgin that she can withstand “The fiery eyes of passionate youth?” Here stopped The hag, and damsels four their cocoons dropped; “In June as in October,” murmuring, “Her tongue hath evermore a barbèd sting, The ancient viper! What the lads, say you? Let them come, then! We’ll see what they can do?” But other merry ones retorted, “No! We want them not! Do we, Mirèio?” “Not we! Nor is it always cocooning, So I’ll a bottle from the cellar bring That you will find delicious.” And she fled Toward the house because her cheeks grew red. “Now, friends,” said haughty Lauro, with decision, “This is my mind, though poor be my condition: I’ll smile on no one, even though my lover As king of fairy-land his realm should offer. A pleasure were it, could I see him lying, And seven long years before my footstool sighing.” “Ah!” said Clemenço, “should a king me woo, And say he loved me, without much ado I’d grant the royal suit! And chiefly thus Were he a young king and a glorious. A king of men, in beauty, I’d let come And freely lead me to his palace home! “But see! If I were once enthronèd there, A sovereign and an empress, in a fair Mantle bedecked, of golden-flowered brocade, With pearls and emeralds dazzling round my head, Then would my heart for my poor country yearn; And I, the queen, would unto Baux return. “And I would make my capital at Baux, And on the rock where lie its ruins low I would rebuild our ancient castle, and A white tower on the top thereof should stand Whose head should touch the stars. Thither retiring, If rest or solace were the queen desiring,